


Imagine you just met the love of your life, but you're already pregnant

by imagineyourepregnant



Category: Original Work
Genre: Birth Fetish, F/M, Fpreg, Hyperpregnancy, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Unplanned Pregnancy, extended pregnancy, labor fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 07:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16782310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagineyourepregnant/pseuds/imagineyourepregnant





	Imagine you just met the love of your life, but you're already pregnant

Imagine you just met the love of your life, but you’re already pregnant with somebody else’s baby.

You meet a handsome, charming new doctor at the hospital you work at. He’s wonderful, and quickly asks you out to dinner that Friday. Of course you say yes, despite the butterflies in your stomach.

Only, they’re not butterflies. You spend the morning throwing up everything you ate over the weekend. Borrowing a pregnancy test from the medical storage closet, you test yourself and it’s positive. That one night stand you had a month ago must have knocked you up.

You have no idea what to do, but you don’t want to mess up your chance with Doctor Perfect. Instead, you go to dinner with him, and make sure to sleep with him.

A few weeks later, you tell him you’re pregnant with his baby. He’s beyond ecstatic, and tells you he loves you and really loves children.

You quickly get engaged, and tell everyone about your blessing. Only, you have to pretend you’re not as far along as you really are. As your stomach swells, you tell people you must be gaining too much baby weight, when in truth you are so careful about what you eat so that you don’t get big too quickly.

You don’t bring your fiance with you to medical checkups, so that he doesn’t find out how far along you really are. You wear loose-fitting clothing, and layers to hide how big you’re getting.

Finally you get to full-term. You’re huge; your boobs have grown to DDD-size. Your stomach is full and hard, with your belly-button popped out. Everyone starts asking if you’re due soon, but you must tell them you have a month left.

You’ve gotten to the tricky part of your plan. If you give birth now to a full-term baby, seemingly a month early, your finance might get suspicious. It’s a good thing you’re a nurse and have resources.

One day at work, on your fortieth week of pregnancy, you start feeling contractions. You again borrow from the medical supplies and take some labor suppressors. They do the trick and the pains stop.

Then you steal a large supply of them, and go on a leave of absence for your last month. You go on self-imposed bed rest, to help stave off labor. You take the suppressants whenever you need, and hide them from your fiance the rest of the time. He doesn’t seem to notice anything, with bed rest and supplements being normal for women at the end of pregnancy.

You check the baby’s vials regularly, and know it’s healthy. You get bigger and bigger every day, and angry red stretch marks line your stomach. Staying in bed makes you stir crazy, but you know your hunky doctor is worth all the effort. You have to take the medicines regularly; your body repeatedly trying to give birth.

Soon you’re forty-four weeks along. You’re beyond huge, looking like you’re carrying multiples instead of one big baby. Your breasts are aching and leaking, your milk having come in a month ago. You’re sweaty and exhausted all the time. You’re just miserably, hugely pregnant, and you can’t wait for this to end.

In fact, you’re sure you’re more pregnant than anyone else in history, but you can’t tell anyone of the medical miracle for sake of your relationship. Finally you stop the suppressants, ready to let nature do it’s work.

But you don’t go into labor right away like you planned. Maybe your body had just given up trying to give birth, but you make it almost another week. You start talking about getting induced, but your finance encourages you to take a natural approach. (Ha! If only he knew.)

One morning, one day before your forty-fifth week expecting, your finance says he wants to try something to get things going. Desperate, you agree to anything. He makes you drink rose hip tea, feeds you spicy food, gives you a deep massage, and then you have wild sex. Sure enough, you start to feel contractions. “Finally,” you think exhaustedly.

You spend the next few hours enduring slowly increasing contractions, it being far too early to go to the hospital. All you can think of is the epidural you’ll get, and the c-section you’ll surely need with how big the baby must be. It starts storming outside, but you don’t notice it through your pain and the pressure on your cervix.

Finally your water breaks. You’re so relieved, the pressure is down and you can go to the hospital and get medicated. You and your fiance load up the car, as the rain comes down around you. You breath through a contraction, holding your stomach, as your finance tries to turn on the car. Only, it won’t start. Between contractions now you’re slightly worried, but you just figure you’ll have to get a taxi or an ambulance now.

Another contraction hits as your finance tries to call the cab company. The contractions are getting much more intense, as you can practically see the outline of your baby through your shirt. Worried, your finance gives you a look and says the call won’t connect. The storm must be interfering with the signal.

Now you start to panic. You live in the country, far from neighbors, and don’t have a landline. And the contractions are getting much closer together. It dawns on you that you’ll have to give birth naturally at home, with no epidural, to a baby that’s five weeks overdue. Your breath gets much more rapid, almost like hyperventilating.

You and your finance go back inside. The one saving grace is that you have him with you, and he’s a doctor. He lays blankets and pillows on the floor, and you lay down. You prop your legs out and he looks up your birth canal and tells you you’re fully dialated.

Finally you feel the need to push. You push with all your might, but don’t make any progress. “I can’t do this,” you say, sweat pouring down your face.

“Of course you can do this. You have to,” he replies, and smiles sweetly. You push again, instead of trying to reply.

You push for almost three hours, making agonizingly slow progress. You keep asking if the phone works yet, but he keeps telling you it doesn’t.

Finally you start to crown. You can’t believe how big the baby feels, and have no idea how you’ll get it out of you. Your sex bulges out, stretched to its limit, but you haven’t even reached the widest point yet.

“I can’t do this,” you cry, tears streaming down your cheeks. Your face is red, and your knuckles are white from straining so much. You’re beyond tired, having been awake for over twenty-four hours at this point.

“You have to, baby, you can do this.” Your finance says, so calm in comparison to you.

“No!” You shout angrily, in more pain than you’ve been in your whole life combined. “You don’t get it!”

“What don’t I get, love?” He says, almost serenely.

You feel another contraction, and you push with all your might, but the baby stays where it is. You can’t think straight, and are completely incapable of lying any further.

“This baby… isn’t yours…” you pant out, and scream into another contraction.

“You cheated on me?” He asks calmly. Too calmly.

“No, I was… Huff Huff… pregnant when we met…” you pant out before yet another contraction. This time you make a little progress, reaching your widest point.

“This baby…. should have been… born a month ago!” You scream, and push even more. Your lower lips are stretched paper thin, and you feel like you’re going to tear.

“I know,” he replies, but you’re too shocked to respond. For just a brief second you forget the situation you’re in.

“I realized you were pregnant from the moment we met. I’m a doctor after all.” He explains while you pant and grunt through more contractions.

“I do love pregnant women, though, so I wanted to see how things would play out. I was expecting you to give birth early and it would be apparent I wasn’t the father. When I heard at work that a supply of labor suppressants went missing, I knew what you must have done. Very clever.”

Now you are fully stuck at the ring of fire, knowing full well you will tear once you push again. But you stop pushing, waiting for what he will say next.

“You are definitely spunky.” He says, smiling. “I might even stay with you, and help you raise this bastard, if you agree to my conditions.”

“Anything,” you say breathless, as the pain of the contraction you’re ignoring courses through you.

“First of all, you will have as many of my babies as I like, for as long as we’re together.”

“Yes.” You grunt out, straining and sweaty, milk leaking out of your nipples.

“Second, you won’t have any medical interventions, unless necessary to save your life.”

“OK,” you say, in no position to think about it.

“Third, you will take any fertility treatments I want you to.”

“Yes!” You shout.

“Then I think we have a deal.” He smiles again. “Oh and by the way, the car and the phone both work perfectly.”

You are shocked again, but in no position to process this revelation. At this point, you can’t wait any longer. This baby has to come out of you, no matter what. You bear down with all your might, your head hunched over your stomach, your eyes squeezed shut, yelling as loud as your hoarse voice will allow.

The baby’s head pops out of your cunt, and with it a spray of fluid. The head is immensely huge. You feel the first relief you’ve felt in hours. But you’re not done yet.

At this point you’re beyond words, and are just screaming and grunting and crying. The wide shoulders get stuck in you but your fiance grabs the baby, and pulls it roughly from you. You feel like you will split in half as the baby comes out of you.

Finally, it is out, and with it even more fluid. Your stomach is still contracting on your empty womb, trying to get the afterbirth out. Your finance is holding your new son, with a slightly cold smile on his face. You’re not sure what you got yourself into, but you don’t know what else to do.

Panting and still in pain, the afterbirth comes out quickly. You hold your new 15-pound son, and hope everything will turn out alright.


End file.
